


Okay

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, but mostly angst and fluff at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Chantry, Hawke's crew escapes Kirkwall and Anders comes to some realizations. (brief mentions of sex)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Okay

**Author's Note:**

> This fic began as me making a post about Fenris calling Anders "Amatus" and just evolved into this. I also just finished the game and was my kind of therapeutic way of dealing with all of my feelings.

They left Kirkwall on fire. The city walls glowed orange as the flames consumed the mangled wood of shacks and vendors that had lined it. They were already at sea by then, escaping on the ship Isabela had secured. For two days, they bobbed on the waters, Hawke's crew lacking one archer, whose name was a bitter taste on everyone's tongue. And of course, Aveline, brave Aveline, who had stayed behind, clapping Hawke on the shoulder in good luck and sending a withering look Anders way.

  
“If you stay away from trade routes-”

  
“Yes, Yes! I know how to navigate and avoid authorities!” Isabela said. “We'll be fine.”

  
Anders still couldn't shake the harshness of Aveline's glare.

  
On the third day, Anders contemplated falling into the sea, wondering if perhaps he would drown, if Justice would let him. Or perhaps it would kill that weak wormy human part, hollowing the vessel so that Justice could exist as he once did. But Anders was pulled from the railing by Fenris, yanking him from his wandering thoughts, and leading him off the boat.

  
Isabela, Merrill and Varric would follow the beach and get a proper crew, as well as spread the glorious tale of the Champion Hawke, and how she was last seen heading for Nevarra to hunt dragons but also rousing an army to challenge the Qunari. Or perhaps, they decided over mushed roots and dried meat, the Champion was in fact accidentally trampled underfoot by the crazed Templar-Commander who had grown into a giant and crushed half of Kirkwall. Meanwhile Eve Hawke would explore deeper into the wilderness, taking Anders with her and waiting for word from Varric. Fenris would accompany them. This was decided without the input of the mage who seemed to have lost his tongue and his appetite.

  
“We'll be fine,” Hawke smiles, as her hand draws from Isabela's.

  
“You'll be fine,” Varric echoes.

 

The forest was cold at night, and not for the first time in his life, Anders felt himself missing the place he had fled from. It was a bad habit for a habitual runaway to have. But always it seemed, no matter how necessary, or how delicious freedom felt, he always longed for what he had given up. Lying on the ground, bundled in a blanket, he watched the fire burn. He missed Darktown. For all its smells and crime, for the pitiful sounds of people cursing their fortune and crying out their hearts, he could have shed his jacket and laid his head on a cot. The buckles of his coat dug into his side, and the belts seemed to suffocate him.  
And there, across the fire, lay Fenris, blanket bunched up under his head, sword at his side.

  
No one had known of their relationship. They had taken precautions to keep it secret. They had a mutual understanding that they were both in disagreement except when they did not need the words to speak; no, they had learned to let their actions speak for themselves.

  
That was also what Anders had missed. The privacy in the city, the dark alleyways he could take that would lead him to Fenris' home. The best sleep he had gotten in his ten years in Kirkwall had been in Fenris' bed. But that was just another thing he had destroyed.

  
_Necessary_ , pointed out the voice of Justice.

  
_I had it_ , Anders answered.

  
Anders twisted to find a more comfortable patch of hard earth. Hawke was staring at him, her eyes hard on his face. Anders swallowed, realizing how intently he had been staring at the elf. His eyes slid away, a coward once more. She huffed and then kicked dirt over the fire, extinguishing the light. She laid down in her own bedding and let out a deep sorrowful sigh. She must miss Isabela. If he wasn't an issue, she could be with her pirate, not on the cold ground. She didn't deserve this. Neither did Fenris.

 

“I'll leave.”

  
“What?” Hawke asks. The only sound is the long metallic scrape of a whetstone against a blade. Fenris doesn't react.

  
“You two can go. Go to Isabela. Join her crew. I will face my fate in these woods.” there is a pot seated on the fire stones. The water is nearly boiling and the heat soaks into Anders' hands which hang limply on his knees. His limbs are too long to sit on the low log but he can't complain. He won't complain. Anders isn't sure if Justice's ideas of bare necessities have become his own or he just doesn't care anymore.

  
“How dare you? You don't get to make the decisions anymore and I'm not gonna let you sacrifice yourself for your virtues.” He can hear her voice breaking. “I am not going to let- No, you aren't gonna be captured and execute and I am not gonna leave you here to kill yourself!” Hawke takes a moment to steady her breathing. “Don't ask me to watch someone I care about die. Don't make me lose another friend!”

  
Friend. The word catches him off guard. Like shrapnel, it hits him and he begins to feel how empty he was. It was as if he had been hollowed out, scraped of any attachment. Friend. The word began filling him up til he as drowning in emotion. He feels tear collect.

  
Anders raised his head to look at Hawke, find something to say in return. She was crying, red eyed and snot nosed. Friend. She stood up suddenly.

 

“I'm getting wood. Fenris, watch him. Don't let him-”

  
Fenris murmurs. The whetstone hums in another stroke. Hawke footsteps disappear.

  
Anders wants to say something to Fenris but the words evaporate before he can find them. He wants to tell him that he misses him (but he understand the space between them). That he's sorry (but that's cheap), that he can't imagine what Fenris is thinking, that he regrets everything yet wouldn't change it for the world. He wants to speak but Fenris beats him to it.

  
“Amatus?”

  
Anders perks up.

  
“What?”

  
Fenris has put aside his whetstone and is looking at him from across the fire, not glaring, not accusing, just watching. He looks tired with bags under his sharp green eyes. Fenris must not actually be sleeping that well. And he has that carefully measured neutral expression, that makes him looks so careful, when he might be seething inside.

  
“Anders.”

  
His breath catches in his throat.

  
“Anders, are you okay?”

  
He is. He wants to say yes, because he's not hungry or hurt and he's fine. But as Anders beings to say the words, it tumbles out.

  
“No. No, I really am not.”

  
The sob wrack his body and somehow, Fenris is suddenly sitting next to him. Trembling hands are held still by warm strong hands. Fenris strokes his hand, listening.

  
“I thought I'd be dead now. I hadn't planned this far ahead and I don't know why we're lost in the woods and so cold, and lonely and everything is so empty. I can't find my way, Fenris. Maker, I wish I knew what to do but, I feel like I should be dead and you- you said I should have and I thought-”

  
“No, Amatus. I was- I didn't mean that. I was angry but Hawke made the right call. I'm glad you're not dead.”

  
Anders cries and wipes away his tears. He wipes his nose on his sleeve. Fenris is so very close, their thighs pressed closely together, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand.  
“I thought- I thought it would fall into place. I didn't think I would the regret the life I had. I miss it so much.”

  
Fenris listens, his thumb stroking Anders' knuckles. His hand is calloused like Anders but in different places, and it always delighted him how strange they felt when rubbed against each other. His hands are dry and cracked and only now does he realizes the skin is scarred and bleeding and he should really heal himself but he can't manage to do anything right these days.

  
Instead Fenris gently holds his hands, raising his bruised knuckles to his mouth. He softly kisses him. Fenris' warm breath ghosts over his skin. Anders feels burning, like he's summoning electricity but this is a magic that is all Fenris'. Lips softly over his skin. Those eyes focused intently on their task.

  
Its funny. Anders has had this elf inside of him, has been fucked tirelessly by him. He's had Fenris in his mouth, brought him to completion and yet this feels more intimate than all of their encounters. Anders leans his head against Fenris. In a moment of terror, he thinks Fenris will turn away. Instead, his green eyes, calculating as always, reach his. Heads pressed together, they share the same breath. Fenris squeezes his hand.

  
“We'll be fine.”

  
For once, Anders believes it.


End file.
